I have a whole bunch of weeknights with nothing to do but make dinner and sit on the couch.

Other than my general sense of suck, I’ve got no excuses left.

It’s time to go back to the gym. Cue: howling, weeping, other sounds of woe.

I’m going to try the Couch to 5k Running Plan, which outlines 9 weeks of progressively more difficult 25 to 30 minute “runs.” The first week is 60 seconds on and 90 seconds off. I did it last night. And sadly, it was not easy.

Oh the shame.

Can I still look at myself in the mirror after experience burning in my shins because I ran at 5 mph pace for ONE MINUTE?

Ok, yes. I can still look at myself in the mirror. Because that’s not actually related to being horribly out of shape. Also, the shirt I’m wearing today, albeit somewhat too small across my ginormous bosom, exactly matches the color of my eyes and I’m being a little mesmerized by my own reflection.

Point is, though, that I’m sad I’ve fallen so far off the wagon. Like, I fell off the wagon, then rolled down the hill until settling firmly at the outskirts of Sloth City, where they’ve never even heard of wagons, because everyone there is too fat to actually fit in one.